Evie stopped short, nerves flickering again before she could smother them. “I?—”
“You handled that well,” Maggie said.
It wasn’t effusive. It wasn’t soft.
It was real.
Evie blinked. “You heard?”
“Kara told the nurse,” Maggie replied. “She felt respected.”
Evie exhaled, tension slipping from her shoulders. “I wasn’t sure if?—”
“You didn’t overstep,” Maggie said. “You stayed present.”
The words landed harder than praise ever had.
“Thank you,” Evie said quietly.
Maggie nodded once, then turned to leave, but Evie caught it. The way Maggie’s steps were slightly too fast. The way her shoulders were rigid, her jaw set tighter than necessary.
Something was wrong.
Evie watched her go, unease prickling at the edges of her resolve.
By mid-afternoon, Evie was certain of it.
Maggie missed a lab result she’d usually clock instantly. Paused too long over a chart. Answered a question with clipped impatience that didn’t quite match the situation.
Not unraveling.
But strained.
Evie found herself watching Maggie instead of her screen, cataloguing the changes without meaning to.
When Maggie finally spoke, it startled her.
“Brooks.”
Evie straightened. “Yes, Doctor Laurel?”
“I’d like to take you for coffee, I think it will help things.”
Evie frowned. “Coffee?”
“Not hospital coffee,” Maggie clarified. “Five minutes.”
It took Evie a second to understand.
This wasn’t a consult. This wasn’t teaching.
This was… something else. And she didn’t question it any further.
“Okay,” Evie said carefully, answering with her gut.
The café smelled like real coffee and warm sugar—comforting in a way hospital corridors never were. It was quiet without being empty, the kind of place people came to sit with themselves for a while.
Maggie chose a table near the window, back to the wall.
